I’m not sure if this is quite what Virginia Woolf was talking about when she wrote of the importance of a woman, and of women writers in particular, having ‘a room of one’s own’ but in this instance the beautiful gift of a bed on a ward for the day with my little girl is giving us the space, calm and freedom to prepare physically and mentally for her long awaited homecoming. This is the dry run. If Beatrix continues to demand feed well we could have her home over the weekend. I have to ‘room in’ for a day and a night and do all her cares but then we are free to go.
How amazing. She is quietly sleeping on my shoulder, snuffling away and had a brilliant feed after a fussy morning. And yes there are four Indians and a Brentford mum on their mobile phones chuntering away outside my curtain but there is a soft summer breeze coming through the window and the gentle roar of planes and cars going past outside and I feel like we are coming towards the end of this long long journey.
We’ve been given the bed for the afternoon so I can sleep and get gently accustomed to being alone with one baby at least, responding to her needs and finally being alone with her. It makes a difference. She is very reactive to noise and all the chat and bangs and beeps on the ward affects her feeding.
In other good news Alexander has been allowed out of the high dependency unit and is back in the room with his sister (or would be if we hadn’t just disappeared). He is feeding well and alert and still having a few de-sats but getting much better. He looks exhausted and needs contact and comfort so I do feel a bit torn but I also need to sleep this afternoon to keep going. The night visits and night pumps are taking their toll.
Better get an afternoon kip in before they kick me out. I have to give up the bed as soon as another mum comes up from labour ward. Keep those babies in for an hour or two please ladies of southwest London.